The Death of Amelia Bones
by The Intellectualist
Summary: Well, its about the death of Amelia Bones. Intended to be suspenseful, even though we all know the outcome. It is pretty bloody-if not gory-at the end, seeing that she was murdered 'brutally'. I hope that you enjoy the story!


**The Death of Amelia Bones:** A tribute to the Bones' struggle and sacrifice in the war against Voldemort.

By C. T. Warren a.k.a. "Pod"

Disclaimer: JK Rowling isn't me, neither are these characters mine. Except for the tabby cat. That's definitely mine. Also, I didn't invent the Lazy Susan. I stole that also. Anyway, this story is for pure enjoyment, not profit. So, I hope you enjoy!

A small, gangly tabby cat crouched behind a garbage can along a well lit street in London, licking its paws after a meager meal of some type of left over sauce and a bit of burnt casserole. For the moment, the street is quiet, and the tabby let its guard down, not suspecting anything. In the middle of cleaning some sauce off of its left paw, a buzzing noise shattered the quiet hum of the city night, followed immediately by flashes of yellow light. The eruption of his senses surprised the feline, who darted out from behind the trashcan with a shriek and leaped into some nearby hedges. The cat's glowering moon-like eyes looked back at the source of the commotion: a street lamp flickering brightly and emitting a soft insect-like buzz of electricity. It was a false alarm.

Turning away, the speckled tabby leaves the hedge, slinking across the small, unkempt yard of a London home. It moves through the weeds and grass silently, ears preened for any noise. A mouse moves somewhere near the house and the tabby freezes, turning his gaze to the source of the noise. Any more movement would give the creature away, and the cat almost held its breath, waiting for anything to happen. The yellow orbs it usually had for eyes were nearly completely black as the pupils strained to take in more light, perhaps hoping the mouse's very shadow would betray it. If only the buzzing of the street lamp would cease, then perhaps the mouse's movement would finally be given away…

Just then, a flash of greenish light burst forth from the house, and the cat yelped and ran from the lawn, its senses bedazzled as it pattered down the street. Inside the house, a serious-looking witch stepped from her fire place in a spectacle of greenish flames that licked her body as she departed. It was another brief second and the flames were out, and the witch took off her monocle, a little tainted with soot, and wiped it with a handkerchief that she kept in her front pocket. She was dressed in a jet black robe, also a little stained with soot, and had bushy eyebrows and a set jaw that gave the impression that she was thinking seriously about something. Her hands, wrinkled slightly with age, returned the handkerchief to her pocket and drew out a short wand. With a quick wave of her hand, the fireplace burst into life with a cackling fury, and the buzzing street light outside gave a last flicker before returning to its usual dull hum of steady light.

The witch's eyes shiftily glanced around her house, and by the new light flickering from the fireplace, anyone could see that she looked both tired and deeply concerned. Deep lines crossed her face as a result of both stress and age, and her eyes alert and sharp, were darkened by lack of sleep. The witch glanced up at a clock mounted on the wall and yawned widely, stretching her arms. She had had a long day. After a moment's pause, she moved from the threshold of the fire place towards a cramped kitchen just off the living room that she had entered. There was a sound of clattering pans and a few chosen words from the vicinity of the kitchen, but only a short time later the house was filled with the smell of hot porridge and decaffeinated tea. The witch, contented, busied herself with cleaning the dishes that had begun to pile up in her sink. She hummed a slow, sad tune that she had learned from her mother when she was a kid, and that lifted her spirits somewhat.

These were, however, dark times. Lord Voldemort had returned to the public view only just a month ago, and the ministry had been bustling every day and night since, trying to make up for the ground they had lost by refusing to believe that Lord Voldemort had returned nearly a year ago. The woman here was one of the hardest hit employees of the ministry, not because of the incredible work load and long hours that the return of Lord Voldemort had brought, but because of what his return meant to her. This woman's name was Amelia Bones.

It wasn't long before the porridge and tea were done, and placing them on a lunch tray, she walked upstairs to her study where she plopped herself down into a squat comfy chair by the fire. She sighed deeply as she kicked off her shoes, and tasted the porridge. It was good, and she contented herself with another, more generous taste.

Madam Bone's thoughts wandered to the picture on her desk, where a small crowd of people smiled back at her, hugging each other and waving happily. She saw herself, arm in arm with her sister, and her brother, arms embracing as much of his family that he could get a hold of. Madam Bone's sister-in-law smiled lovingly as her hands ran through her eldest son's hair as his sibling squirmed to escape his father's hug. An older couple, Ms. Bone's parents, stood closely with their arms wrapped around each other and Mrs. Bone's head in the crook of her husband's neck. Amelia Bones watched them for what could have been a while, and slowly made her way through her evening meal.

Once she was finished, she placed the empty tray on a small crowded table next to the chair and took a moment to collect her strength before heaving herself from the chair. The witch shuffled tiredly towards one of her bookshelves-they encompassed the room-and ran her finger along the titles of such volumes as "Wizarding Law, 548th edition", "Writing Laws Worth A Sphinx's Scrutiny" and "Arguing a Case: A Guide to the Courtroom". She stopped at "A History of the Wizengamot" by Bathilda Bagshot, and took the heavy book from the shelf. She carried it over to a desk cluttered to its limit with books, parchment, ink bottles, and a rather large collection of quills. She plopped the book down on the desk without a second thought, and sent an escapade of quills, books, parchment, and ink over the sides of the desk and onto the carpet and her feet.

Cursing, Amelia kicked the book that had landed on her toe and surveyed the damage. Most of the inkbottles were empty or dried out, but some of the inkbottles close to her, newly purchased-she had forgotten about them-had emptied themselves over her robes and carpet, not to mention perfectly good parchment. Amelia Bones reached into her pocket for her wand to clean the mess up, but found it empty except for her handkerchief and pocket watch. Amelia cursed a second time: she must have left it downstairs in the kitchen. She turned and exited the room, her big toe pounding with a dull pain.

She was walking downstairs when she heard a sharp noise, like china. She stopped suddenly, instantly becoming much more awake and aware. Her pupils widened like the cats, though not as much so, as she looked toward the front door and the fire blazing in the living room. She waited. Different thoughts rushed through her head_. Did she check her security spells when she had returned? She didn't remember. She always checks __her security spells. Maybe the U__nderground had shaken them. Perhaps she should recheck the spells, just in case…_ But her wand was in the kitchen. She would have to move.

Glancing briefly behind her, she began to creep quietly down the stairs. Despite her broad appearance, she silently slunk her way down the stairs, gracefully avoiding the books and cauldron that cluttered the staircase.

_If someone was in the house_, she thought, _and what she heard was china, they would have to be in the entry hall, making their way towards the kitchen and __pantry-if they were entering from the front door. She would have to act fast, as they must have already heard her…_

Amelia swept silently through from the foot of the staircase and across the living room towards the kitchen. She didn't pause once until she had entered the kitchen and her hand was on her wand. It was lying next to the Lazy Suzan, above the cupboard where she usually keeps her lunch trays. At least it was out of the entry halls line of sight. She quickly grasped it, her fingers firmly clutching the polished Rowan wood surface, and spun silently on the balls of her feet to face the darkened entrance hall. Nothing moved.

Her eyes flicked this way and that. _Maybe_ _it was the Underground_. Her eyes searched for anything, her ears straining to hear the slightest footfall, the slow intake of breath… Amelia's heart was pounding in her head. Thoughts suddenly rushed from her control. She saw Edgar and his family again, laughing heartily. Her sister was chatting happily about a new man she had met. Edgar's body was lying on the ground-his face as white as a ghost, she was suddenly holding her niece in her arms, and then she was glancing up at Hogwarts…it was her first year…

Amelia's hand was shaking terribly. _Why was she so scared? Was this her life flashing before her eyes? What was the matter with her?_ She thought of lowering her wand, but was unable to. She felt safer with it aloft, pointed towards the dark entrance to the hallway.

Then, a figure materialized: It wore a dark cloak and appeared as if not by movement, but as if the light had only now just hit it right, revealing that it had been there all along. Amelia was for a moment froze in shock, but then both she and the figure moved. There was a fury of motion as Amelia and the Death-Eater brought their wands tearing through the night air towards each other, with a flash of light and deafening crack. Amelia was faster. The Death Eater collided hard with the wall right behind him, tumbling into the china that lay in the entry hall. Amelia spun from the room and raced into the family room where another cloaked figure stood and shouted "Impedimenta!"

It was like running into a wall. Amelia immediately fell to the ground hard, her head hitting something and she heard objects crash around her. She flung her wand in the figure's direction and caught it around the middle with a spinning spell, sending the figure spiraling across the room… She struggled up dashed across the living room and into the entryway, grabbing for the front door, but she couldn't open it.

She turned on a dime and ran up the stairs, past the spiraling death eater, and struggled her way up the stairs, stumbling over books and slipping, holding on to the rails for support. A loud clang told her she had knocked the cauldron from its precariously perched spot, and a loud "umph" told her it had hit one of her pursuers. She flung herself around the top of the banister and into her study, slamming the door behind her. She immediately pointed her wand at the door and thought "Colloportus!" Turning on her heals she went straight for the fireplace, floo powder flourishing into her hand from the confines of her cloak, but she stopped suddenly. The fire was out. Something was wrong. There was someone already in the room. A dark cloaked figure, with pale skin, its eyes a dark glowering blood red... Amelia's heart was pounding. She could see Edgar's children lying dead at her feet-their eyes gaping. She wanted to scream and flashed her wand at the white figure, but was blasted backwards into a bookshelf, her wand flying from her hand, books tumbling from their places. She was pinned.

"Mrs. Bones, I presume?" said Voldemort icily. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance after all these years, especially since I never did get to meet that dear brother of yours. I hear he fought well, despite the fact that they had imperioused his own wife…"

Amelia Bone had tears running down her face to her ink-stained robes, her head was throbbing with pain, her heart pounding in her chest, and her lungs were straining for air…Then a thought occurred to Amelia…she was going to die…

Voldemort smiled at her with an inhuman smile, his eyes wide with pleasure.

"Finally, we are getting somewhere…"

Amelia couldn't wipe the tears from her face, as she was pinned spread-eagle to the wall by some magical force, but she could still speak.

"Kill me then," she spat at him, drawing courage from somewhere...anywhere… "Kill me... I dare you. It won't bring you any closer to…"

"Silence," Lord Voldemort hissed, his eyes glowering. "I don't want to hear you talk…I want to hear you scream."

In horror, Amelia watched as her collection of quills, there must have been nearly a hundred; slowly rose into the air as if they were snowflakes...some still dripping with the ink that she had spilled on them...and watched them level out, the quills pointed towards her…

The scream that had been trembling at her lips burst forth, piercing the air around her, as the quills dived into her flesh, in and out, again and again. Voldemort laughed as Amelia screamed as the quills continued to perform their vile work, dipping themselves into the bloody ink they so longed for.

Eventually, her screams stopped. Voldemort let the witch that was Amelia tumble to the ground grossly, blood seeping from the punctures of her body, some quills still stuck where they had landed their blow. His own cruel laughter had slowly quieted, taking in the echoing scream in his ears… and Amelia Bone's labored breathing. The shelves were blood-splattered, and the carpet was soaked with her blood. Voldemort waited silently, waiting for her to die. It was probably a minute…perhaps two. But the short coughing sobs slowly stopped. It was another minute as her breathing slowed, and another when finally the life breathing in Amelia came to a stop too. Voldemort's lipless mouth turned upward in a grin of monstrous satisfaction. He waited for a moment, as if to make sure that she had indeed died, and then muttered quietly.

"Your death _will_ bring me closer, Amelia."

And then Lord Voldemort touched his own arm, turned on his heels, and with a crack disapparated, leaving behind poor Amelia Bones-dead.

The warm night outside was no longer as silent as it was before. Sirens could be heard in the distance, responding to a call that claimed screams had been heard. A concerned neighbor pounded on the door, asking if Ms. Bones was alright, asking if he could come in. Dogs had been excited by the commotion and lights that had flicked on in the homes surrounding Ms. Bone's, and now barked to each other incessantly. A shabby looking tabby cat, lurking in an alley a block away, disappeared into the shadows. It had found it's next prey.


End file.
